Four Musketeers and a Baby
by Shychick
Summary: D'Artagnan runs into a protective witch, who attempts to punish him for his ignorance of nature, but the ever-loyal Albert gets hit with the spell instead! What happens! (Three-parter)
1. The Lesson

"…But no matter how fast she went, the good lady could not lose that stranger driving the coach behind her! The more she had her own driver speed up, the more hotly this man pursued her down that dark, lonely country road. The furious pounding of horse's hooves roared through the night, as did the ghastly creaking of the other coach's axle like an unhinged spirit. At last, the stranger cried out to her to pull over… and upon turning around, that's when the lady realized this man meant her no harm, but rather was attempting to _warn_ her…"

"Warn her of what, D'Artagnan?" Porthos gasped. Aramis was leaning forward on his log, eyes wide as saucers; and though Athos faced in the opposite direction, his knees could be heard knocking vehemently. Only Albert appeared unfazed, but he politely gave D'Artagnan his full, undivided attention.

A sinister grin wreathed across D'Artagnan's features, accentuated by the blaze of the crackling flame. "Why, of the blood-thirsty, axe-wielding maniac hiding in the trunk of her carriage, from whence he started to rise! But alas, her first scream was her last ever."

Aramis emitted a shaky sigh, and rubbed the back of his sweat-coated neck. "D'Artagnan, I'm afraid I must object to having the fair object of your tale the victim of such grisly circumstances."

The brunette shrugged in response. "Well, at least in my last story about the murderer with the hook for a hand, both the lady _and_ her gentleman-"

"You know very well that's not my point."

"Gadzooks," exclaimed Porthos, looking white as a sheet, "but that was an ingenious twist, the bloody hook left mysteriously dangling on the door of their parked coach! Did this story happen in this very area like that one, D'Artagnan?"

"Oh, yes," D'Artagnan replied casually.

He turned to their smallest comrade. "What's up, Albert? I noticed you weren't very engaged in either story."

"Hmm? Oh!" Albert quickly shook his head. "I beg your pardon, dear D'Artagnan. On the contrary, I very much enjoyed your stories! They were truly well-told and full of suspense, don't get me wrong." He chuckled sheepishly. "It's just that, well, you know I'm not exactly scared by much. Especially if it is merely fiction."

"Ah, but how do you _know_ they didn't actually happen, hmm?" D'Artagnan challenged.

Athos nodded, sounding less-than-convinced himself. "He's got a point, Albert!"

Smiling, Albert said, "Just a hunch. And don't encourage them, D'Artagnan, or they'll never get any sleep tonight. Now- I think it is somebody else's turn to tell a scary story."

"Thank you for volunteering, Albert!" D'Artagnan thrust the velvet pouch into the blonde's hands.

"Oh... well, all right; I'll give it a shot. Let's see… I think I've got one." Albert reached into the bag, and scooped out a fistful of sand. But before he could toss it onto the fire, as per their little ritual of the night, D'Artagnan stopped him, protesting, "Say it first, Albert. You've got to say it!"

Rolling his eyes good-naturedly, Albert said, "Oh, very well." He cleared his throat and dramatically intoned, "Submitted for the approval of my fellow Musketeers, I call this story-"

"Half a minute! The fire's getting low," interrupted Aramis. "And we've run out of wood. Porthos, I told you you should've brought back more."

But Porthos was already shaking his head. "If you think I'm going back out into those dark woods, you're mad!"

"For shame, Porthos!" D'Artagnan cried, half-amused, half-exasperated. "A Musketeer, much less one whom they call the Hercules of France, afraid of a figment of imagination!"

"Now, a Gascon is unmatched in mettle," Albert chimed in, winking at the others, "is that not so, D'Artagnan?"

D'Artagnan beamed proudly.

With that, Albert handed him the axe. "Thank you for volunteering," he said, hardly able to keep a straight face. "As fearless leader, you've got to set a good example!"

The others laughed. D'Artagnan visibly wilted, but he was stuck for it.

"You're well-armed, my friend," Albert added. "I believe anybody would think twice about crossing paths with you."

"Hmph! A swordsman like me hardly needs any additional weapon," scoffed D'Artagnan. And off he set, axe over his shoulder.

Albert called after him, "I'll have a special treat waiting when you return."

"What's that?" Aramis inquired.

"A new delicacy I've created. You sandwich a roasted marshmallow and some chocolate between two graham crackers, let the heat soften them to the perfect texture, and _voila_!"

The Musketeers looked delighted. "What an idea, Albert!" Porthos exclaimed. "But… chocolate is scarce is France. How did you-"

"Oh," Albert smiled, "I have my ways."

Whistling, he went to his horse, and retrieved the ingredients from his saddle-bag. "That reminds me, gentlemen. Before we departed for our leave this morning, I had finished an invention for Captain Treville to present to the King for the upcoming ball- I call it a chocolate fountain! I was thinking how His Majesty loves both chocolate and strawberries, and this is the perfect way to combine them…"

* * *

D'Artagnan was venturing deeper into the forest. He cast nervous eyes all about him, jumping at every hoot, occasional howl, and crunch of leaves beneath his feet. "Why didn't I think to bring a lantern? Well, at least the moon is bright tonight." He stopped at a random tree, and began to chop.

Not even a minute later, he got the distinct impression that he was being watched. There was no particular reason to feel this way, but intuition was a healthy branch of fear, a cousin of caution. Pausing in his labor, he looked around, his hand flying to the hilt of his sword. "S'blood, D'Artagnan, you're being ridiculous!" he scolded himself. "It's only your imagination! The others won't come along and find you strung up by your own remains, or anything."

He resumed chopping, but no matter how he tried to focus on his task-at-hand, the feeling continued to haunt him. He did his utmost to ignore it. "You're a man, not a mouse," he repeated, striking into the trunk with each chanting of this mantra.

A loud _hiss_ erupted. Shrieking, D'Artagnan dropped the axe and jerked his head up. A pair of piercing green eyes narrowed down at him from three branches up. The rest of the creature, practically invisible against the backdrop of night, continued to growl and hiss.

"A cat… a black cat." D'Artagnan heaved a sigh, pressing a hand against his chest. He glared right back at those emerald orbs, noticing its tail swishing. "See here, what's the idea of sneaking up on me like that?" he inanely demanded. "Be off with you!"

With a ferocious _Mrowrrr!_ the cat pounced, claws and teeth bared, forcing another yelp from the Musketeer.

"Get off! _Off_ , I say!" cried D'Artagnan, flailing wildly, as the creature stuck to his tabard like a scratching post. " _Ow_!"

In the time it took him to wince, the weight of the cat vanished. Disoriented, his sights suddenly fell upon a small girl standing in front of him.

A girl with raven-black hair and large green eyes. She scowled up at him.

"What? Who are you? What's a child doing out here at this time of night? And where'd that blasted cat go?"

The child, who appeared no older than nine or ten, spoke. "But I'm not alone! I was just holding you off until my sis arrived. Better watch out, mister, because you've been bad! She's gonna punish you!"

"What the devil are you on about, young lady? And you should know better than to talk back to your elders!"

A breeze stirred past, lightly rustling the blood-red cloak the child wore. D'Artagnan shivered, though not from cold. Something very strange was going on here.

"Thank you, Winnie. I'll take over now." The other voice appeared to come from out of nowhere too, prompting yet another cry from D'Artagnan; immediately, he whirled about to see the young woman standing there, smiling coolly. A fall of curly, flaming-red hair draped around high cheekbones. Her chin was not entirely pointy, but sharply defined. She inhaled as she keenly surveyed D'Artagnan, like a predator sizing up its meal. "Monsieur, I'll have you know that you are trespassing on our land. That, however, I am willing to forgive. But hacking away at a helpless tree with impunity… well, that's another matter."

Maybe it was the brilliant shade of her own green eyes, but D'Artagnan swore they seemed to glow.

"Madam, in faith, I implore your pardon. I had no idea these trees were yours." The Musketeer delicately bowed, doffing his hat. His every instinct was screaming at him to get out of there, but if he had indeed offended this strange woman, the wisest course of action would be to admit to being in the wrong and apologize. It was the way of the gentleman, not the coward.

" _My_ trees? Oh, no, stranger. The trees belong to nobody. They are the sacred children of the earth. But I am their protector. You do not appreciate that, out of all of Mother Nature's creations, the trees are the most vulnerable. Unlike man, beast, and even the tiniest of lifeforms, they have no means of protecting themselves. They can neither fight nor flee."

"This is all very interesting, madam, but I really must be going now." D'Artagnan made no move to retrieve his fallen axe, instead edging further and further away from this crazy- er, highly-sensitive female.

But the woman was having none of that. "Don't patronize me, mortal! It's obvious that you have no respect for nature!"

"Now, that's not fair," D'Artagnan protested, holding up his hands. "I have a very good friend who loves nature!"

"Don't patronize us, mortal!" the little girl, Winnie, repeated. She delivered a sharp kick to his shin.

The woman placed a hand on her sister's shoulder. Winnie obediently returned to her side, and blew D'Artagnan a raspberry.

"Look here, both of you!" exploded D'Artagnan, rubbing the bruise that had already begun to form. He puffed out his chest. "Do either of you know who I am? I am Charles D'Artagnan of the Musketeers of His Majesty King Louis XIII! To assault a Musketeer is an offense to the crown itself! Do you know the consequences for such conduct? Just because you're the fairer sex, don't think I'll stand for this!"

The woman's glare didn't waver. "I recognize the uniform of the King's Musketeers, Monsieur D'Artagnan. But I don't recognize your authority if you insist on abusing it!"

" _What_? What do you mean?"

"You are arrogant and blind, like so many of your kind. You think you're above nature! Nature gives us so much, and yet humans refuse to do their duty to her!"

"My duty, good lady," came the reply in tightly controlled tones, "is to the King and to the denizens of France."

"And ours is to this forest! We are loyal subjects of the King, my friend, but we serve the forest above all." The woman gestured around them. "Contrary to ignorant belief, just because the trees are still does not mean they don't speak and feel, but so few even try to understand them. But _we_ do! And right now, the suffering and pain of this poor soul you attacked cries out to me! You have only to _listen_ , and you will hear it."

Her irises began to swirl with soft tones of blue, pink, and green, and D'Artagnan was too struck with terror to even gasp. "If you spent but a day in a position of sheer helplessness, perhaps you would gain an idea of what I mean. I shall teach you a lesson _and_ avenge the one you've wronged!" She began to chant in a strange language, which sounded to D'Artagnan like some kind of warped Latin. The words came faster and faster, D'Artagnan frozen like a poor deer in a flood of light. He began to feel very lightheaded…

" _NO_!" And suddenly, Albert was there, tackling his friend out of harm's way. A great cloud of purple dust enveloped the minute Musketeer, just as D'Artagnan fell to the ground-

D'Artagnan's horrified cry was joined by their comrades, whose arrival he only just became aware of.

"Oh, adder's fork!" cursed the woman.

After what seemed like forever, the smoke began to clear. Albert was gone, save his uniform, which lay in a rumpled heap on the forest floor.

"ALBERT!" the four men screamed again.

D'Artagnan was the first to react. He whipped around to face the woman, a glint of moonlight touching steel as he unsheathed his sword. " _What did you do to him, you she-devil_?"

"Lord! Who is this woman?" Aramis hoarsely exclaimed.

The woman held up her hands, the first sign of submission she demonstrated. "Gentlemen, upon my word, your friend is in no danger! Please, allow me to explain!"

"Listen to her!" Winnie likewise begged, having dove behind her sister's cloak.

D'Artagnan snarled, but lowered his sword. "Very well, but only for the child's sake. Speak, vile wench, and no tricks!"

"I am the witch Cordelia, and this is my sister and apprentice Winnifred. We are the guardians of this forest, sworn to protect all life within it. I intended to punish you for attempting to chop down this tree, Monsieur D'Artagnan, by giving you a taste of what it's like to be so vulnerable and defenseless. I didn't foresee your friend interfering just as the spell completed itself; that was _incredibly_ brave of him, especially considering he had no idea what I was going to do." Cordelia looked shaken. "I've never seen anything like it."

"But where _is_ Albert?" Porthos demanded.

"As I said, he is fine. I am a defender and preserver of life; I _never_ use my magic to deliver true harm, not even to the most wicked of folk."

There was a muffled sound, a mixture of snuffling, gurgles, and coos. The heap of clothing that belonged to Albert was moving. A tiny hand emerged, followed by another. Then, a tiny head that hosted a modicum of soft, slightly curly blond.

The baby crawled out, and began to eagerly move about his surroundings as though experiencing the world for the very first time. Suddenly, he stopped and looked up at all the gaping adults, sky-blue eyes alight with curiosity. "Ah?"

"Is that…"

"Could it be?"

" _Albert_!" came the third simultaneous exclamation.

* * *

 **To Be Continued…**


	2. Shenanigans

**Fine, it's going to be a three-part story! Man, this is taking longer than I thought.**

* * *

The Three, sorry, Four Musketeers were in Albert's workshop, closely supervising their infantile friend as he happily explored his surroundings. It was fortunate that Cordelia had offered to transport them all back with her magic; they couldn't very well ride while carrying Albert.

"All right, so that _was_ decent of her," D'Artagnan begrudgingly admitted when Aramis reminded the sulking Gascon of this fact. "But we wouldn't be in this mess if it weren't for her!"

Porthos frowned at him. "I say, you're being ungrateful, D'Artagnan! You're the one who started it! Miss Cordelia may be a witch, but she's clearly merciful. She only sought to make a point, not do any harm."

"Rather like somebody we know," Athos considered aloud, watching Albert crawl under the table. "And a great affinity for nature, too."

"Besides," added Aramis, "we all saw how sorry she was for cursing Albert by mistake."

Sighing, D'Artagnan muttered, "That's all very well, but then why didn't she turn him back?"

"Weren't you listening when she explained that the spell is irreversible for twenty-four hours?" Aramis shot back. "She could have intended to make it permanent, or have Albert- or _you_ , I should say- grow up all over again."

D'Artagnan sighed again, knowing that he was right. "Well, it would have been nice if she was the one minding him until the spell wears off. Women are best at this sort of thing! What does a Musketeer know about taking care of babies?"

"Well," shrugged Aramis, "we'll just have to do the best we can. We're Albert's friends; he's always been there to do more than his share whenever we find ourselves in a jam. And in this case, D'Artagnan, this is the best way you can make it up to him."

"Too right I owe him," D'Artagnan said quietly. He reached down and picked up Albert, who had just toodled past him. "When I think about what might have happened… why, he didn't care a fig for his own fate, as long as I was safe!" He chuckled as Albert reached out and grabbed his right index finger. "You know, lads… in truth, I am never more reminded of the significance of our motto than when I see him in action. I don't know what we did to deserve such a true friend."

A silence followed, in which each man humbly reflected and concurred.

But it was short-lived, as a yelp suddenly erupted from D'Artagnan. Albert had grabbed hold of his goatee with what seemed like the strength of Porthos. " _Ack_! Albert, please, that's most unbecoming behavior for a Musketeer," he pleaded, discomfort straining his every word. Albert merrily laughed at this game, along with the others. "Oh, don't encourage him!"

Captain de Treville entered the workshop. "Ah, gentlemen," he greeted. "Back already?" Upon seeing D'Artagnan feebly struggle with the infant, his face clouded over with confusion. "I say, whose child is that?"

"Um, about that, sir," Porthos smiled, pressing the tips of his fingers together, "wouldn't you say he looks an awful lot like Albert?" The others glared at him, Aramis additionally face-palming. Porthos immediately directed his attention to the floor.

Treville cupped a hand under his chin and frowned, as he studied him. "Well, yes, actually. The resemblance is striking," he admitted. "If I didn't know better, I'd swear there was something our young friend was not telling us…"

The Musketeers laughed perhaps a little too loudly at that, none meeting their captain's eyes.

"By the way, where is Albert? And who is this baby?" Treville repeated.

Aramis sighed in defeat. "Friends, a Musketeer does not lie," he murmured, slowly inhaling. "We shall have to tell the good Captain the truth."

One explanation later, de Treville exclaimed, "Hell's bells! This is a disaster! What will the Queen say?" He did a double-take. "That reminds me, the King summoned me to his morning _levee_. You take care of Albert, and don't let him out of your sight for a moment! Nobody must know of this until he's back to normal. If Richelieu were to find out, he might be in danger!"

"Never fear, sir!" D'Artagnan assured him. "We shall protect young Albert with our lives!"

The others noticed a subtle difference in D'Artagnan's tone. Instead of the action-oriented fellow's typical boasting, there was a touch of earnestness, almost as though he made his vow to God too.

" _One for all_ -" declared D'Artagnan, unsheathing his sword.

" _And all for Albert_!"

* * *

Albert curiously peeked into the mouse hole. Gertrude poked her head out, recognizing her friend with a squeak of great surprise. Albert beamed and reached out to her, but did not attempt to grab. Despite his lost memories, and in spite of his present ignorance of the world, it seemed he was still gentle as a lamb.

Gertrude was more than willing to climb into his hand. The ticklish Albert giggled as she playfully nuzzled her whiskers against him, then scurried up his bare arm, shoulder, and to the top of his head where she peered out from behind a tuft of blond.

For the next hour, the two chased each-other on all fours around the workshop. Gertrude made sure not to run too fast, giving Albert a chance to catch up, although he was a devilishly fast crawler. Eventually, the game of Tag evolved into Hide-and-Seek. The amused Musketeers watched with diligence to ensure that their charge did not get into any of his own plans, models, or books, or more importantly, get his hands on any of his tools or weapons. Thankfully, nearly everything considered delicate or dangerous was either shelved too high for his reach or locked away.

"In many ways, it must be nice," Aramis smiled, "to enjoy being that young."

D'Artagnan chuckled. "Indeed, Aramis. You're waited on hand and foot, no responsibilities or obligations… why, being a baby is better than being a king! Seeing our little friend immersed in a whole other level of carefree innocence, I'm almost sorry Cordelia missed her target!"

"Ah, but the world is even more dangerous when you're that naïve," Athos pointed out.

"Bah, not when you're surrounded by those who would fiercely and vigilantly protect you, whether they be parents or brothers-in-arms!"

Athos countered, "Granted, but there is still more freedom in independence, which can only be acquired through growth and maturity."

"Well, yes, which is why I say 'almost sorry'," said D'Artagnan with a shrug.

Finally, Albert stopped. He looked up at the adults, and began to fuss.

"Aw, he's finally pooped after using up all that energy," Porthos observed.

Aramis wrinkled his nose, and replied, "Ah… I think you may be more right than you know."

* * *

"Er… right, Albert, just hold still while I- _gah_!" D'Artagnan was forced to jump back, barely missing the golden fountain that rose to attack him. "Geeze, Albert, _really_? That nearly got in my mouth, too! Even like this, your aim is formidable."

Lying on the bench, Albert gazed up at his big brother with large, innocent eyes.

"And don't think you're fooling anybody with that puppy-dog look. You're lucky you're so blasted cute right now."

Ten minutes later, D'Artagnan was still bent over the tub and washboard, scrubbing away at the soiled cloth Albert had been wearing. "Oh, my aching back! How is it that a Musketeer like me can take on a whole fleet of Cardinal's Guards without breaking a sweat, but when it comes to this _woman's labor_ -"

He was interrupted in his grumblings by Aramis suddenly asking, "I say, D'Artagnan, haven't you forgotten something?"

"Rather busy here, Aramis." He spared his friend an impatient glance, and Aramis wondered how D'Artagnan had managed to get baby powder all over himself. "Besides, I'm incapable of forgetting!"

"Then why is Albert roaming naked around the courtyard?"

"Ah…" Suddenly, D'Artagnan did such a double-take that he nearly tumbled into the wash-tub. "Wait, you left him _alone_ out there?"

Aramis frowned. "Well, you did first! Besides, I didn't exactly; the others are only in the stables, feeding the horses."

"Well, he can't get into too much trouble, as long as he stays on the property."

A great yell sounded from outside, almost resembling a spooked bull, and Porthos was heard calling, "D'Artagnan, Aramis! I think you'd better see this!"

The pair rushed to their comrades' side. Following their panicked sights, D'Artagnan and Aramis immediately perceived the trouble. Albert was on the roof of the workshop, stalking an oblivious bird perched on the edge.

" _How in heaven's name did he get up there_?" D'Artagnan cried.

"How should we know?" snapped Porthos. "Last I checked, _you_ were watching him!"

"Oh, sure, let's blame it all on D'Artagnan! Everything's my fault, isn't it?"

Aramis intervened hastily. "Friends, now is not the time for this! We've got to make sure Albert doesn't break his neck! I'll go after him; the rest of you stand by with a large sheet!"

They split up to grab what they needed, and met up again within seconds. Aramis steadied the ladder against the building; D'Artagnan, Porthos, and Athos positioned themselves below with the sheet stretched good and tight.

Already, Aramis had scaled the ladder and was inching towards their tiny friend. "Stay right where you are, Albert," he carefully implored him. "I'm coming…"

Albert glanced behind him, eyes lighting up. _Friend! Fun!_ He giggled at seeing Aramis crawl in his direction, and began to scoot away. _Can't catch me!_

"No, Albert, stop! I'm not chasing you- well, I am, but this isn't a game!"

 _Game! Yes, fun game!_ Even the fear in Aramis's voice was not enough to deter him from his reckless course. He was nearly at the edge. The bird had taken flight, just as Albert approached.

"Oh, Lord have mercy! It's now or never! Gentlemen, get ready!" Aramis launched himself to his feet and into a sprint. He just barely managed to scoop up the tyke before they both tumbled down.

The others caught them instantly, but they were sent springing into the air. They made contact with the sheet again, but bounced back up with the laughing Albert enclosed in Aramis's protective hold. _Up_ once more, then _down_ , and _up_ a little higher than the last time.

"Aramis, stop fooling around!" Porthos demanded.

"Contrary to how Albert feels, I assure you, Porthos," came the cold retort, "I should much rather have my feet back on the ground!"

But the next time they landed, the force wrenched Albert from Aramis's arms. He went flying-

" _Albert_!"

-And landed, as blessed fortune would have it, safely atop the back of a pig. The swine, who happened to be lounging in its mud bath, calmly sat up with a confused _oink_ , sending Albert sliding off its back.

Needless to say, Albert was delighted. By the time the others arrived on the scene, he was already covered from head to foot as he splashed and rolled around with his new friend.

* * *

It took all four grown men to hold him steady in the wash-tub, keep him preoccupied, and apply enough soap and water so that he resembled a human instead of a miniature mud monster. Eventually, the floating bubbles had been enough to pacify him so that they were able to finish the job, but they didn't count on his furious howls and kicks to start up all over again upon lifting him out.

"Gadzooks! First he acts like he's being tortured, then he decides he wants to live in the tub!" Porthos exclaimed, looking as exhausted as the rest- a rare phenomenon, indeed!

Albert had been dried off, diapered, and was currently sitting pouting in the middle of the floor.

"He looks cranky," Aramis said. "I submit that he is in need of a good nap."

But D'Artagnan replied, "Nonsense! He's just bored! What he needs is a riveting story of adventure, intrigue, and romance! I'll tell him about the time I single-handedly fought off an entire squad of dastardly Cardinal's Guards, saved France from His Eminence's latest scheme, and saved the Queen's honor!" Tapping his chin, he mused, "Now, which one? There are so many, I daresay… decisions, decisions…"

"You're quite the story-teller, all right," Porthos smirked at him. "Full of artistic liberty, and all!"

D'Artagnan expelled an indignant puff of air, causing the plume on his hat to stir. Brightening, he said, "Hang about, I've got a better idea!" He dashed out of the workshop, returning almost instantly with a large glass case of his most treasured material possession. "Look, Albert, see my lovely, shiny medals?" He knelt to his level and carefully opened the case, inviting him to have a closer look. "I know them all by heart! Pick any one of them, and I'll tell you how I earned it! We'll even count together just how many there are!"

"That would take hours, dear D'Artagnan!" Porthos laughed.

"Yes, well," sniffed the Gascon, "never let it be said that I don't combine fun and education!"

Albert reached out a hand to D'Artagnan's collection. Pausing, he looked up at him almost questionably.

D'Artagnan smiled, nodding encouragement. "Go on, Albert, don't be shy. I don't let just anyone touch them, you know!"

The largest of the lot was selected at random.

"Ah, you've got impeccable taste, my friend! We'll make you an enthusiast of medals yet! Now, this one I'm particularly fond of-"

But D'Artagnan's pride turned to dismay as the medal was flung aside, after being examined for all of two seconds. Albert resumed his unimpressed demeanor.

A hearty chuckle was enjoyed by all except for D'Artagnan. "Yup, same Albert!" said Porthos.

Suddenly, Albert began to cry.

"Now what's the matter?" D'Artagnan asked, letting his arms fall.

"Perhaps he's hungry," suggested Athos. "After all, he hasn't eaten since he's been like this."

* * *

"Come on, Albert," D'Artagnan coaxed. He sat at the table with Albert in his lap, a forkful of spaghetti in the other hand. "You made this yourself! You know it's delicious!"

But Albert continued to whine, turning away from the proffered dish with even greater obstinacy.

"Oh, for pity's sake, enough of this tiresome modesty! Porthos, show him how it's done."

"With pleasure!" The giant snatched away the mouthful and shoveled it in. "See, Albert? Scrumptious!"

He had barely pronounced this succinct declaration when sheer bliss exploded across his features. "Gadzooks, but that _is_ wonderful, and it's not even fresh! Albert really outdid himself with this batch!"

The others looked on in mild exasperation as Porthos bent right over the pot, loudly smacking away like a pig at the trough.

D'Artagnan snapped his fingers. "I've got it!" He twirled another forkful from the plate, and began to produce a series of complicated movements with it, while emitting some very strange sounds. "Look, Albert! _Wheee_ , here comes the great flying machine… uh, the one that _you_ invented…" Stopping, he shrugged at the gaping Musketeers as if to say _What am I even doing?_

"Friends, I think we might be approaching this the wrong way," Aramis pointed out as Albert finally conceded to a small taste. "He's only six weeks old, right? He's too young for solid food. He needs milk!"

D'Artagnan looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Ah… that might present a problem," he pointed out, rubbing the back of his neck, "as none of us are quite, shall we say, equipped in that area."

"Fair point, old chap," Athos muttered, turning crimson.

"Obviously," replied Aramis coldly. "Which is why I have an idea…"

And so, after half an hour of contending with one very 'hangry' baby, D'Artagnan finally returned with the object of his mission. "Here he is, lads," he called, their guests following him into the courtyard. "I've filled him in on everything."

Athos, Porthos, and Aramis emerged from the workshop, carrying Albert, to greet Sir Little John. "I'm awful sorry fer havin' doubted ya, D'Artagnan," he was saying, eyes wide, "but iffen I didn't see it with me own eyes, I dunno as 'ow I could've believed it!"

He smiled at his friend, who beamed back at him. "Say, I think he recognizes me! D'ye mind if I hold 'im?"

The Musketeers obliged. Behind Little John, the bovine let out a moo. "Looks like Milkelie recognizes him, too!" He allowed her to get a closer look at Albert, before she bestowed upon him a great, affectionate kiss.

Albert positively chirped with coos and laughter, and the two fondly nuzzled each-other.

"Ar, he be bringing out her maternal instincts," chuckled the little man. No sooner had he placed Albert down next to Milkelie than he made a beeline to one of her udders. She looked on Albert with large, protective brown eyes, mooing softly as she nursed. "Haha, what'd I tell ya?"

Ten minutes later, he was finally finished with his meal.

"Um, I think we're supposed to burp him now, right?" asked Porthos.

"I'll do it," Little John affably offered, scooping Albert up.

The others watched in amazement as he proceeded with all the touch of a mother. Seeing their expressions, Little John explained, "As a lad of around sixteen, I always helped my ma out with my baby sister when I wasn't tending our farm. Pa had passed away before she was born, Ma became ill, and I was the man of the house."

"I see," D'Artagnan said quietly. "You're a good man, Sir Little John. If Albert could at present, I'm sure he would absolutely agree."

* * *

After Little John returned to his stately home with Milkelie, whistling as he went (but not before asking the Musketeers to give Albert his regards when the spell wore off), the others were in the dark once again. "How stupid of us! We still haven't a clue how to keep Albert entertained. We should've asked Little John for advice!" moaned D'Artagnan.

As if on cue, Albert began to fuss again.

Aramis sighed. "It's a shame we haven't any flowers. Then our dear Albert would be occupied for hours."

"Well," D'Artagnan cried in inspiration, "that's no problem! We'll take him to that field just outside of Paris- you know, the one he's so fond of frequenting."

But Porthos looked uneasy. "And how do you think the Cardinal's Guards will react when they see the King's Musketeers pushing a pram? More importantly, if they realize it's Albert, that could spell trouble."

"Do you think we'd put him at risk?" came D'Artagnan's indignant response. "After all, what is more inconspicuous than the Musketeers escorting a mother and her child through town?"

"A mother and her- oh, my. Why don't I like where this is going?" Aramis mumbled, avoiding the eyes of the others.


End file.
